


One Day at a Time

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anachronistic, Feral Stiles, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, PTSD, Swearing, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-17
Updated: 2013-02-25
Packaged: 2017-11-21 08:15:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/595521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles had been kidnapped by hunters, and locked up with feral werewolves for the better part of three years. He was tortured, put to fight in gladiator style battles, and generally put through hell. </p>
<p>The longer he’s there the more like the feral wolves he became. And he’s still Stiles, but he’s impossibly screwed in the head. </p>
<p>He perhaps loses a bit of himself before the pack gets a chance to find him. But when they do finally get him back, he’s completely out of it; he can’t do normal things anymore because he’s too fucked up. And the pack doesn’t really know how to deal with this new Stiles, except for Peter. Peter who generally understands, because he's just as fucked in the head as Stiles is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as a fic where Stiles and Peter were just being incredibly vulgar towards each other, and I sort of came up with this? Yeah, I don't know. I just suddenly craved it.
> 
> The summary is the background to this, so you can understand what the hell is going on.

“Eat something,” Derek says, eyebrows furrowed.

Stiles leans his chin on crossed arms that were leaning on the table.  He glares at nothing in particular, and he grumbles a,

“Not hungry.”

Though, the fact is, he is hungry. Derek can hear his stomach growl every five minutes, but Stiles has been weird about eating with them for a while. He doesn’t seem to like to accept food given to him. He either hides it and pretends he’s eaten, or refuses the food outright, like now. He’ll usually get his own things to eat if his hunger gets too bad – opting to go out and scavenge some food from the woods. Berries and things of that sort most likely, but Erica swears she saw red smeared on his lips and smelled blood on his breath a few times, indicating that he’d most likely eaten some small animal. Which is fine, considering he’s getting his nutrition, but they’re trying to re-civilize him. Gain his trust back.

Get him back to normal.

Before Scott or Derek or someone else could plead with him though, Peter comes out of the kitchen, sandwich in hand. He promptly shoves it at Stiles’ face.

“Eat,” he orders.

Stiles snatches the sandwich from his face and wipes the crumbs and mayo off of his face with a sleeve.

“I said I’m not –“

“Eat or I’ll shove it down your throat,” Peter growls, “You know I will.”

Stiles narrows his eyes at the man, before standing up and stalking off towards the coach, taking a bite of the food as he walks.

“Asshole,” he forms the insult around a mouthful, sending a glare at Peter.

“ _Bitch_ ,” Peter retorts, following Stiles to the couch and taking a seat when the boy does.

“Cunt,” Stiles snaps back, not to be out done, and a few bits of saliva coated ham sandwich flies and hits Peter in the face.

The man grimaces, “I should wash out your mouth with soap –“

“– You first, dickhead,” and again with the food and the spraying of crumbs.

“–and you eat like a fucking animal, fix that please,” Peter finishes with a raised eyebrow.

Stiles purposefully takes a savage bite of his sandwich before grinning around it, “Says the wolf,” he replies, mouth still full.

“Eat your sandwich and shut the fuck up before you choke,” Peter rolls his eyes.

Stiles gives him a sarcastic salute before swinging his legs up to throw them on Peter’s lap, taking up all the space of the couch that Peter isn’t. The man just flicks on the TV, letting the boy stay that way. He does, however, curl his hand over one of Stiles’ ankles.

The rest of the pack watch in silence, taking in the both friendly and hostile way the two regard each other with. Stiles hadn’t really cursed all that much before, especially not in his father’s presence, but now he seems to fit a curse in every other sentence. They figure it’s something he picked up at the hell hole he was trapped in for almost three years, scarred in his speech like battle wounds scarred his skin. It worries them, because sometimes they can’t tell if he’s angry or not when he speaks – but then again, maybe he _is_ angry all the time (lord knows he has every right to be). When they try to stop him, though, he actually _does_ get angry, so they learn to leave it alone.

Then there’s Peter, who goes along with it, profanities slipping out of his mouth like they never did before, whenever Stiles is around – matching him, and only sometimes manipulating it so that Stiles eases up on the language a little. The effect makes it so that a lot of the tension in Stiles’ body seeps away whenever the older man is around, and he seems to find a bit of peace too.

It’s strange, they know, but it works for Stiles, so that’s all that really matters at the moment.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s Scott’s idea to reteach Stiles the basics of speech. 
> 
> ...Maybe this wasn't going as well as he’d planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, so, after all the comments encouraging me and my own personal interest in this story, I decided to do a lot more for this fic. Again, I'm planning to do everything anachronistically, but I'm eventually going to cover what exactly happened to Stiles while he was in captivity. It's not going to be for a while though. Each chapter is basically going to have a particular focus, this one, for example is mostly on Stiles' speech - and even more so his lack of trust of the Pack.
> 
> So yeah, hope you enjoy!

To say that Stiles has changed over the years – _three of them_ ; they had believed that their Stiles was dead for _three fucking years_ – was an understatement.  

They’d found him naked – blood and dirt the only thing swathing his body – and thankfully, unconscious: else they wouldn’t have been able to bring him home to the Hale house, where he’d be safe.

When they’d managed to hose him down (he wouldn’t go _near_ the shower for the life of him. Jackson was still mad about the black eye he got, no matter how fleeting it was), the scars appeared as clear as day. Some were a fresh, angry red, while others were old and faded, but they still promised that Stiles was put through hell in every sense of the word. 

The Sheriff couldn’t help the tears that came spilling when he’d saw them – hell, the entire pack had watery eyes, even Lydia, the one that spent so much time acting like she couldn’t give a care in the world of Stiles’ existence back when they were in high school.

_High school._ Stiles hadn’t even finished; kidnapped at sixteen and thrown in captivity until nineteen.

When Lydia realized, it only made her want to cry harder; Stiles was going to be something great someday – go to a good college, make something of himself.

Instead he gets to be… _this_.

The dark smudges underneath Stiles’ eyes confirm his exhaustion, but he never closes his eyes for longer than a second. He tracks their every move; tensed, and poised to strike if they get too close.

He was violent those first few days – to put it nicely. He snarled at Derek when he laid a hand on his shoulder, causing the Alpha to yank it back in surprise; and when Scott didn’t get the memo that Stiles apparently didn’t appreciate being touched anymore, he got his arms broken temporarily for giving Stiles a hug.

Stiles even fled from his own father’s reach, quickly disappearing before the Sheriff could even think about embracing his son like he used to.

The pack had quickly learned to keep their distance.

Well, except for Peter.

It should have been expected, really – the man (was substantially psychotic) always did things his way.

The _moment_ Stiles tried to lash out at the older werewolf, Peter shut it down. He had wrestled the boy down onto the floor, teeth – that he kept blunt, for the boy’s sake – clamped firmly on Stiles’ neck, and didn’t let go until Stiles went limp and eventually bared his stomach to Peter.

The room went still; for the moment Stiles just lay there, blinking up at Peter in what seemed like – amazement? Surprise?

Peter raised a brow looking down at him. Damn right he wasn’t going to let Stiles continue to rampage. He needed to fucking learn to be civilized.

But of course, people didn’t appreciate Peter’s finesse in the way he handle things.

“Peter, what the hell was that,” Scott roared at him – overprotective of his friend as always, and perhaps even more so, despite the fact that Stiles had attacked him not too long ago.

“He’s not some delicate little flower, Scott,” Peter sneered at him, “He went through hell: he can handle this. _This_ is the only way he understands.”

Derek walked up behind Scott, undoubtedly to take Scott’s side and yell at Peter some more, but he was interrupted by Stiles’ sudden movement.

Stiles had managed to push Peter on his back in the distraction, pinning the man’s shoulders on the wooden floor with his strong hands. He didn’t, however, look angry at all. Instead, a grin that showed too much teeth spread across his face – it looked a bit strange, stiff even, as if he hadn’t smiled in a while. The smile appeared a little dangerous, but it wasn’t a look that promised violence.

He dipped his head down and darted his tongue out to lick a stripe underneath Peter’s chin.

Scott’s eyebrows nearly shot up to his hairline, and the look on Derek’s face was no better. Peter tried not to look too smug about it.

But then Stiles opened his mouth to sink his teeth around Peter’s jaw in a rather hard bite and quickly gets up to move away.

Peter hisses and touches a hand to the little driblets of red seeping out of his skin before the bite mark heals over.

“You little shit!”

Peter is up and glaring at the boy – _man_ now, with the way he’s grown; sinewy, with hard eyes that’s seen too much – but Stiles’ grin just widens and he moves to stick up his middle finger before running off in some random part of the house.

It’s enough to elicit a guffaw out of Peter and make him forget his irritation.

Maybe the Stiles they knew wasn’t too far gone after all.

\---

Later on when Derek finds Peter seemingly straddling Stiles and shoving a sandwich down his throat, he doesn’t say anything.

They boy needs to eat, anyway.

\---

 

The pack notices how absolutely silent his with them. He’s always just watching, keeping to himself in places he’s “claimed his territory,” like corners, dark places and such. One would figure he’d spent the last three years with spiders instead of feral wolves with his preferred hangouts, but well, he likes what he likes. 

They try to speak to him; Jackson once even asked how he was feeling. (Lydia tried not to laugh at him, honestly she did.)

But all they get from him are weary looks; eyes glowing with distrust and perhaps a little violence in the way his jaw clenches tight.

It’s a week back home and he’s literally not said one word, and the pack figures they should really try to do something about that.

It’s Scott’s idea to reteach Stiles the basics of speech.

He pulls out some children’s books one day and sits in front of an irritable Stiles, who had been graciously and quietly watching a rerun of Supernatural.

Peter has the decency to cover his mouth so that he doesn’t laugh too hard, but everyone sits close, keeping a watchful eye to see if Stiles can retain any language skills.

“Okay bro, you remember this?” Scott, with a cheerful smile on his face, lifts up the book in his hands titled _Corduroy_. There’s an illustration of an imperfect teddy bear, bending over to pick up what looks like a button.

“It was your favorite book when you were a kid. Remember, you told me? You used to read it when your m– well, we used to read it… when we wanted to revisit some childhood favorites. Do you mind if we do it again? Maybe you’ll remember some of it, and we can read it out loud together?”

It was safe to say that Scott was getting nervous under Stiles’ glare. But bless him, he was trying.

 He just wanted his talkative, sometimes rambling Stiles back.

Scott just clears his throat and starts to read, but stops immediately after Stiles starts to growl (rather impressively for a human).

“Okay, okay, maybe some other time,” Scott amends, pushing the book aside and raising his hands in a placating gesture.

So maybe this wasn’t going as well as he’d planned.

“How about we start with something simple?” Scott perks up, eyes hopeful as he places a hand on his chest, “Scott.”

He places a hand on Stiles chest, then, “Stiles.”

In response Stiles just narrows his eyes. He pulls in his eyebrows and his lips press into a firm line. He almost looked…offended?

Immediately after, he slaps Scott’s hand off his chest, before opening his mouth to form his first words since he’s been back.

“Fuck you,” Stiles growls out, and Peter bursts out in laughter that he was trying so hard (not really) to contain.  (But before anyone gets mad: Jackson, Erica and Lydia were laughing too. So there.)

The second string of words out of Stiles’ mouth are, “Get the fuck away from me,” and Peter steps in to sweep Stiles away before he can take a swing at a very flummoxed Scott.

\---

They figure out soon enough that Stiles can understand what’s being said to him, and clearly he could speak – even if it sounds a bit choppy and gruff – but he doesn’t necessarily _want_ to. It’s just that he’d rather communicate in (violence) body language.

Deaton suggests that they should try to engage him in conversation as much as they can, however, so he can get back into the habit of conversing like a normal person, instead of grunting and growling like he’s wont to do.

“He’s in full wolf mentality,” he said, “His instincts tell him that fighting is the only way to survive. He’s lost what it meant to be human. It’s your job as his pack to bring him back to humanity. Talk to him, maybe get him to open up about his experiences so he can get past them.”

The pack makes it their mission to get Stiles to speak after that.

 Erica asks him about any romance he might have had, to which he responds by shifting uncomfortably and slinking away.

Scott tries to reminisce about the old times, when they were children, and Stiles just gets this shuttered, almost bored look on his face, but stays relatively silent.

Jackson tries yelling at him and gets a punch in the face for it.

 Lydia pretty much just rants at him with whatever comes to her mind, somewhat reminiscent of how he used to be and deliberately so. Stiles has the intelligence to not ignore her, though.

Peter flicks Stiles’ ear, to which Stiles responds by trying to tackle him down.

Stiles leaves before Derek and Isaac can awkwardly approach him.

The Sheriff and Melissa can never seem to find him at all, even if he never leaves the Hale property.

Ultimately, they pretty much have no progress for another week or so.

\---

 

Boyd is sitting on the couch in the living room when Stiles walks in. When he looks over from the television to acknowledge Stiles, he gets his legs kicked open by Stiles’ bare feet. In the next moment Stiles dumps his body next to him and then stretches himself over Boyd’s legs, lying on them. Boyd blinks twice before looking down at his lap, raising a questioning brow at Stiles.

Stiles’ voice is deeper than Boyd remembered when he says, “I like you. You don’t talk.”

And then he turns in Boyd’s lap before going to sleep.

Just like that.

Boyd lets his arms rest out on top of the couch, a self-satisfied look on his face when the others walk in and catch the sight with a decidedly jealous look on their faces.

“I told you he’d go to Boyd first,” Peter smirks at Derek, “You owe me fifty bucks, dear nephew.”

Boyd just puffs his chest out a little more, and tracks Peter’s movement after the man snatched his “hard won” money from Derek and began to walk over.

When Peter sits on the couch next to Boyd, Stiles opens his eyes, looks at him, and moves to lay his feet in the man’s lap before shutting his eyes closed again.

He stays there, stretched across Boyd and Peter as the pack moves in closer, arranging themselves around him, so that he’s in the middle of their all their physical contact.

It may not be actual conversation, but it’s a start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will probably be centered around Scott and Stiles. (Which is code for angst.)
> 
> If there's anything you might want to see done here, leave a request and I might add it in.
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> you may also find me on tumblr at: stroke-my-sassywolf.tumblr.com

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn’t going to write a full fic. Just a bunch shorts that deal with it. So if anyone is really interested in seeing more of this, when I continue, it will be done in connecting one-shots that are generally out of order. I already have a few in mind, so comment if you'd like to see more.
> 
> This fic is set a couple of months or so after the pack found Stiles, so he's more talkative and less hostile/ feral.


End file.
